I reconnected with my inner-automotive-self this morning as I cruised down the Sepulvada pass at 80 miles per hour in Los Angeles.
Having moved from California ten years ago I have not made it back to the Golden State except on rare occasion and this morning’s drive was like coming home again. My rental car, a Chevrolet Aveo S struggled to get to speed but once there was able to maintain highway speeds.
So, there I was in pack of cars hurtling down the freeway, five feet off the bumper ahead of me at 80 miles an hour: sublime.
There were other things, besides excessive highway speeds which struck me during my brief trip back:
* There was a lot more graffiti on the public property than I recall. Quite a few signs were illegible due to gang tagging.
* For a state teetering on bankruptcy the sports bar I visited was packed. I dined at BJ’s in Oxnard on Monday evening and had to wait 30 minutes to be seated. I thought California was in a recession.
* Brown. I forgot how many shades of brown there are there - California is essentially a desert state save for the water the SOCALs steal from the North.
Bottom line: Maybe one can truly never go “home again”, but you can always visit.